Spirits whisper from their glasses as they slip from mouth to mouth
And frigid fingers feel the way to let the cirrus crystals out
And ghostly gasps surround and bound from wall to window sash
As irons souls with oxidation from their glassy prison dash
'I am rust; wilt thou hold me?' silent whisper floats in quick
Before you answer, a breath unheld beheads the flame on candle wick
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 11:25 PM UTC
Spirits whisper from their glasses as they slip from mouth to mouth
And frigid fingers feel the way to let the cirrus crystals out
And ghostly gasps surround and bound from wall to window sash
As irons souls with oxidation from their glassy prison dash
'I am rust; wilt thou hold me?' silent whisper floats in quick
Before you answer, a breath unheld beheads the flame on candle wick
